Im leaving you with all the shit I no longer want, nor do I need.
My pigtails and mini skirts that no longer suit me.
Those childhood games I used to play like hopscotch, tetherball and hide go-get-it.
I gots mine, proud as I please; no longer needing to pass notes, do you like me: yes, no or maybe.
So I set you in a box along with my diary, the one that holds all my secret crushes, my first kiss the first time I let Jason get to first base on me before I smacked his hand and ran back to the other girls at recess. Those memories, my Barbies, the old cabbage patch dolls that seemed to get lighter as the years went by. Yes, you sit in a box next to those old things that no longer benefit nor define me.
My Paula Abdul double tongues, overalls turned back, cross colors, leg warmers, tutu, and toe shoes. All packed up in a box of shit I don’t need any more.
And there you sit with your tired excuses, your baby please, baby, your soft kisses and warm touches. Your secret letters and even more secret crushes, I no longer get weak in the knees for those things, nor your smile or your breath on the back of my neck.
That’s long since been put away with my want for big pickles, a blow pop, now A’laters, chick’o sticks, lemon heads, cherry clans and Boston baked beans.
I miss your kisses no more than I miss getting detention or a call home from school. Thoughts of your touches linger no more than my first skinned knee, or getting a black eye in baseball. Our time alone has been replaced with thought of being more powerful with out you.
Dropping all those pounds you’ve suggested over the years.
I put you in that box of shit I no longer need, ready to be picked up and eliminated from my life and as I look back at all those things that made me the woman I am.
I take from the box my mini skirt and those silly games I used to play, ill send a text to a guy with a nice smile and pretty face, do you like me. I’ll keep my diary and my memories, my Barbies and Cabbage Patch Dolls, those double tongues fit yet a bit snug overalls, cross colors, leg warmers, tutus and toe shoes. I’ll suck on a lemon head a now a’later, I’ll even crave for a big pickle and blow pop, those cadies that made my life sweet.
And I leave in the box the shit I no longer need.
